The Man In The Mask
by Abandonthot
Summary: A death by a gun, a deck of cards, an old opera house, a curious girl, and an assassin with a mask. In a world of hurt, some find comfort in the scariest places.
1. Chapter 1

Uh Hi! I have had this story in my mind for what seems like forever, so I finally decided to write the sucker down. This story is VERY LOOSELY related to Phantom Of The Opera by Gaston Leroux. He was the one who created the book, this is a very loose adaptation of it. None of the names are the same in it, the only thing really related to it is the man who depicts Erik. And a certain death. But everything else was from my crazy mind. This is my first story on this really complicated site so I'm just warming up. Have fun reading (or more like suffering :)

* * *

The thing about home

Blood. That was the first thing Glenda saw when she walked into her fathers' room that dreadful night. He was sprawled out on the mattress of his bed. His eyes wide open and glassy, a pistole residing in his right hand, and his left dangling off the side of the bed. His night close were ripped and cut in places as if he had been slashed multiple times, but nearly missed each blow.

She remembers her tears upon her face, and the screams bubbling in her throat. She remembers running outside into the street screaming for help. She remembers the sirens and the police. She remembers it all.

Except for the feeling part. It was gone. It seemed as if her feelings were a book, and the person who was reading it ripped out the entire chapter that held her sadness and anger. It wasn't there. It was empty. Not a drop of sadness. She felt wrung out, stretched the the bone, and lost in the world. She was numb and scared. Her world shattering within a number of seconds. A gunshot, a scream, and a few shock ridden tears, and her life was over.

The thing about home to small Glenda Ekon was that it was safe. Her father had always told her that home was her safe. Where she could cry and laugh, where she could feel and fall. That was what home was for. But the problem was that whenever he told her this, he always told her that it wasn't the house that was her home, it was him. He told her he was her home, and that we would never leave her until she was ready. Well, on the deep morning of October fourteenth, she knew she wasn't ready. She knew the moment she saw his still chest and gone eyes, that she was not ready to leave her home. She was barely fifteen, how was she supposed to live without the only person in the world that truly mattered to her? How was she supposed to keep going feeling that that?

How was she supposed to continue going with the knowledge that the very death of her father didn't bring her sadness and grief, but fear and numbness?

That early morning, she was escorted to the police station and sat there for hours. She tried to focus on the sound of the telephones, and how they clicked into their little spots, and how satisfying the sound was. She tried to focus on how many time the officer who managed the desk blinked within the span of two and a half minutes because human nature has a certain way of making that happen. She tried to focus on her breathing. She taught herself how to breathe through her nose and out of her mouth at the same time. She taught herself to crack her back without it hurting, and where exactly her neck was hurting at that moment. She focused on the tapping of the old women's foot who was sitting across from her, waiting for her son to get out of jail because he vandalized a street vendors cart. She left, scolding the young boy as she walked out of the door. She knew he vandalized a street vendors cart because of her gossip on the phone with someone she knew very well. Or at least that's what Glenda thought, considering how the old women spoke to the poor person who was on the other side of that line. Either she had a lot of nerve, or that person had to stand through life knowing such a person.

By noon, she had a sore mind and a plane ticket to a small place called St. Abbs in East Lothian Scotland to live with her aunt named Maris for the rest of her life. The rest of the details were not told to her in an effort to "keep things simple." For her because she could experience severe post-traumatic stress disorder if she is strained too much.

'To late.' was all she could think. Her mind was already confused and blurry, she knew her metal stability would never be the same, but for some reason, her mind couldn't zero in on the fact and just kept going back to her fathers figure sprawled out on his bed. She wondered if they called the paramedics, or if they just zipped him up into one of those white bags that you put those really fancy dresses in, and threw him into the back of a truck or something like she's seen them do in movies. Her body shook and her hands grew sweaty at the thought. She wondered if she'd even be able to go to his funeral, they said she was leaving tomorrow, would they be able to do a service, would she even be able to say goodbye? Could she even manage to say goodbye if she had the chance? Or would all those emotions she thought were gone come back up to greet her fathers' fresh spirit? He would know what to do. What would he do? Her mind wandered back to something he had said to her when she ran to him crying about a friend who was moving, and she didn't know if she could say goodbye.

"Always say goodbyes to those you know you will miss. Or you will regret not doing so. Your last interaction is the one you mind is on the most."

Hearing his voice echo within her mind made her heart wilt. Oh, she missed him, but maybe she should find a way to properly say goodbye. Maybe it wasn't a maybe for her, maybe it was a must.

'Yes,' she thought. 'I must say goodbye.'


	2. Chapter 2

It was a blur, the car ride to her house so she could pack her things, the car ride to the airport, the security check, the boarding of the plane, the cold flight. Everything. Time seemed to move a million times faster, and all Glenda could ask for was for it to slow down. Her heart was racing, and her ears were ringing. Her body kept having spasms and she couldn't stop hiccuping.

There was a man who was sitting next to her, he had also been the same man to pick her up from the police station. She was pretty sure his name was David and that he was a social worker or a police officer, she couldn't remember exactly, but it didn't matter. He had grey hair and a messy stubble that dotted his chin. His eyes were kind and tired, and his posture was nearly perfect, except for his neck that seemed to stick out forward like a chicken.

She had faintly remembered him talking to her, but not really ever expecting her to respond, she thinks it was to help fill in the empty air, but now empty air was all she begged for. The few things she did remember him telling her were that she would be seeing a therapist every day for the first four weeks she arrived in Scotland and that her aunt was overjoyed to know she would be coming. Other then that, either everything was muddled together, or simply to fast to understand.

The only moment she felt time slow was when she visited her father in the hospital, where he lay in the stark white sheets as a long beep continuously sounded, a ringing sound. The one you hear in those television shows about surgeons and doctors and all their drama. His face was pale and his hands were cold. The nurse had told her she had ten minutes to say goodbye.

Ten minutes to try and relieve everything that happened.

She told him small things, about the lady in the police station, about the nice sound of the telephones clicking into their spots, about how flustered she had felt when packing. She told him about how fast her heartbeat felt during all of this, and how she was sad she wouldn't be able to go to his funeral, but the psychiatrist said it would be good to break contact for a bit with the memories and give her mind some time to breath. She told him she would miss him, and how he laughed. She would miss the scent of his clothes and the sound of his ugly country songs playing in the morning on self-proclaimed Sunday cleaning days. She told him she'd miss his smile and his kind eyes, or how he would try to teach her how to dance when she was little, by placing her feet over his and waltzing around, holding her up with his arms. She told him she would even miss their fights, because at least back then she would have someone to fight with. She would miss him getting frustrated at her for not closing the fridge all the way, or how he would sing on the top of his lungs on Monday mornings.

She told him everything in ten minutes. And when her ten minutes were over, she kissed his forehead and quietly mumbled the word

"Goodbye."

* * *

The moment Glenda arrived at St. Abbs, she knew things would be drastically different from her previous life in little Maine. Instead of highways and cities, there were boats and ferries, and...a lighthouse? They were right next to an island apparently. Oh, the things you miss when you are in traumatic shock.

The small car that David had rented from the airport pulled into a gravel driveway that winded down to a house that, when you broke through the trees, sat upon the top of a cliff that looked out into the foggy ocean.

Glenda took a deep breath and climbed out of the car, carrying her old brown backpack and a duffle bag, nearly stumbling and falling on her face in exhaustion. She stared up at the small house. She never knew this part of her family existed, why had her father kept this from her? The house had ivy crawling up the sides of the stone walls and the windows had shutters. The front porch had three stone steps climbing up onto a slightly raised porch, which led to a wooden door. Beside the door sat two flower pots filled with lavender and basil plants. To the left, there were two chairs with a table in the middle, and to the right, there was a rocking chair.

A woman swung the door open and ran down the front steps, causing a large amount of sound while doing so. Glenda winced as the women came racing towards her and enveloping her into a long and tight hug.

"Oh my goodness you've grown darling." She said, pulling away to cup Glenda's face her hands. The women had long brown hair, that was just as curly as Glenda's, although Glenda's hair was cut to her shoulders to keep it out of her face while going on adventures in the woods near her house. The woman's face was clean and pale, and her lips were thin. Her eyes were warm and welcoming, but were such a dark brown they were nearly black, unlike Glenda who had light brown eyes and a face full of freckles. She was acquainted with a stick like figure and a posture that only screamed relaxation and nothing else.

"Glenda, this is your aunt Maris." David stated. Maris smiled down at Glenda, who attempted a smile back, but stopped when she realized it probably looked more like a grimace. She was tired and just wanted to sleep. Her mind seemed to be walking in circles, and all she could think of was sleep.

"I am so happy you are here, but you look simply exhausted. I'll show you to your room so you can get some rest. We will talk when your ready, okay?" Glenda nodded her head, and bid farewell to David, who nodded her head and talked to Maris for a few moments, giving her some emails and numbers to address regarding therapy and schooling. Afterwards, Maris lead Glenda into the quaint little house.

The moment Glenda walked through the door, she was hit with the scent of lavender, sea salt, and basil. An odd yet satisfying combination. Maris lead her straight up three flights of stairs into a small bedroom with wood floors and floral wallpaper. There was a small bed in the corner of the room that had old looking white pillows and a cream colored quilt. The bedside table had a vase with little flowers and three small candles. Above the bed was a window that looked out to the sea. Across the room from her bed was a small dresser with a mirror above it, and a small closet. In the middle of the room on the floor was a small rug that had a depiction of the ceiling in the Sistine chapel. Beside the closet was a door that probably led into the bathroom. On the wall with the door leading into the room, a bookcase held a small amount of space. When she looked closer, it was filled with mostly books she's never heard of, some even in different languages. While the room looked old and a little worn from being unused for so long, it was refreshing and welcoming.

"In the bathroom, there is a pair of pyjamas, a towle, a toothbrush, toothpaste and socks. Feel free to take a shower, but make sure to get some sleep. I'll be here when you wake, we can talk then. Your mind is foggy, and you are exhausted." She said in a quiet voice, as if fearing that if she raised her voice, Glenda would break like glass.

"Thank you." Glenda murmured, Maris hugged her and patted her cheek before ambling out of her new room.

Glenda dumbed her bags onto the floor and stripped her shoes from her feet. She eagerly climbed into the bed, not giving a second thought about a shower or changing. To her, all that mattered at that moment was sleep. And so sleep came.


End file.
